


The Path of Thorns (Terms)

by innerslytherin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 06:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2682806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innerslytherin/pseuds/innerslytherin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny has tried to help Harry get past the war, but even her love and commitment seem to make no difference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Path of Thorns (Terms)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a songfic, one of the early fics I wrote in the Harry Potter fandom--2005, so we didn't have any inkling of what Harry & Ginny's kids would be named. :) I would apologize for the songfic, but I still happen to think that, when well done, they're gorgeous. I just hope you think this one is well done. ;) The song "The Path of Thorns (Terms)" is by Sarah McLachlan.

_I know you wanted to tell me_   
_In your voice there was something wrong_   
_But if you would turn your face away from me_   
_You cannot tell me you’re so strong_

She knew, when he couldn’t face her. His face was stoic, his green eyes determined, but once she dusted the flour off her hands and wiped them against her apron, he turned away. That was how she could tell what he was about to say.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice low.

“I wish I could help it, Gin,” he said, and she could hear the tears in his voice. She wanted to sigh with exasperation, or yell accusations, but she had learned, through long hard experience, that neither would work. Damned if she could figure out what would.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she told him. She tried to be gentle, but her heart was too scarred, and she was tired, so tired. “I can’t take it.”

He shook his head, still not looking her way. Then he shuffled out the door, leather satchel thrown over his shoulder.

Ginny didn’t chase him. That had only worked the once.

_Just let me ask of you one small thing_   
_As we have shared so many tears_   
_With fervour our dreams we planned a whole life long_   
_Now are scattered on the wind_

Life had seemed so perfect and hopeful, in the wake of Voldemort’s defeat. They had experienced loss, of course; no one would forget the sacrifices made by the Order members. The Ministry had already begun drawing up plans for a war memorial, and the names of Lupin, Black, Weasley, and Dumbledore, would feature prominently. But the war was over, there would be no more disappearances, no more ambushes in dark alleys. They could get on with the business of living.

It had been a season of weddings, that first summer. Ron and Hermione first, surprising no one, and then Charlie and Tonks, surprising nearly everyone. Penelope had married Percy and brought him back to the fold, and they’d named their son Bill. The family was grieved, of course, that Arthur hadn’t lived to see it, but they took comfort in the fact that his portrait smiled heartily at his first grandchild.

_In the terms of endearment_   
_In the terms of the life that you love_   
_In the terms of the years that pass you by_   
_In the terms of the reasons why_

It had surprised her family when Ginny married Harry. Not because they doubted the strength of her feelings—or even the strength of his, after the last three years. But everyone could see how badly the war had damaged him, even if he refused to see it himself. Ginny had made the mistake of believing that she could fix him. She should have known better.

_Through the years I’ve grown to love you_   
_Though your commitment to most would offend_   
_But I stuck by you holding on with my foolish pride_   
_Waiting for you to give in_

The first time he left was an accident. He had maintained that for years now, and she was willing to believe he was telling the truth, or thought he was. He’d been out overnight on business. The Aurors were still cleaning up after the war, though Harry was kept well out of that. He deserved a good long holiday, the Ministry said, and Amelia Bones seemed to agree, because she consistently assigned him to deal with petty mischief rather than the remnants of the Death Eaters. Ginny was grateful to Madam Bones, because Harry could talk about his work now, and frequently even laughed about it. (She hadn’t seen him laugh since Lupin and Arthur vanished. Not even on their wedding day; he’d simply smiled at her, a sad smile that broke her heart.)

So he was in Cornwall overnight, and she didn’t think anything of it when he didn’t contact her, because they’d already agreed they wouldn’t be like Ron and Hermione—unable to be parted for more than a few hours. But the day he was supposed to be home turned into another night away from home, and that’s when she’d started to worry. The third day stretched into evening, and she’d panicked and contacted Madam Bones, who’d sent Moody out to find him.

Moody found him in a Wizarding pub, morosely drunk. He’d dragged Harry home, lecturing him about his young wife at home, and the responsibilities of a husband, and been both sheepish and courteous when he took off his bowler hat and called her “Mrs Potter” and said he’d found the scalawag. She felt then as if she were Harry’s mother, instead of his wife, and had been naïve enough to wonder why.

The second time he’d gone for a walk and stayed out all night. She wasn’t fool enough to call anyone, though, and he’d brought himself home late the next afternoon. He hadn’t been at the pub, he told her, and he hadn’t been with anyone else. He’d been in the woods, and he’d kipped under a tree. And in the end, there was no reason for her to doubt he was telling the truth, because there was no flicker of guilt in his eyes when he said it, just that hollowness that had been there for so many years now.

_You never really tried or so it seems_   
_I’ve had much more than myself to blame_   
_I’ve had enough of trying everything_   
_And this time it is the end_

It had turned into a habit, this disappearing, and every time he didn’t come home when he was supposed to, Ginny’s heart bled again. She knew it wasn’t other women; there was no question of that. And it wasn’t really the drink, or the facelessness of the wild. It was the past that haunted him, that drove him to try again and again to escape. And no matter what she did, Ginny couldn’t help him. She didn’t know how to compete with ghosts that weren’t even really ghosts.

_In the terms of endearment_   
_In the terms of the life that you love_   
_In the terms of the years that pass you by_   
_In the terms of the reasons why_

She had spent so many years loving Harry that she didn’t know how to not love Harry. Ron assured her that Harry loved her, too, and she didn’t really doubt him. There was no question in her heart that they loved each other—but love didn’t seem to be enough to hold him. Even the commitment he’d made, promising to be her husband and love her and cherish her, wasn’t enough. Even their young son James didn’t seem to be enough, and that was what finally convinced her that it wasn’t a lack of love that kept driving Harry away from home.

Because no matter how he felt about her, Harry was devoted to James. He was a beautiful little boy, with a thick head of black hair, and brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles that disappeared under a tan in the summer. James was not a quiet boy, and his father only encouraged him to be noisier. They chased each other around the garden, the child shrieking with laughter, the father making growling noises, and Ginny stood at the back door, resting her hand on her belly, where the twins were already making themselves known, and laughed.

The night the twins were born, Harry vanished again. He had the courtesy to wait until they’d been cleaned up, their red hair brilliant against their mother’s pale skin, and she’d looked up to him for approval when she named them Maggie and Sirius. But some time later, when they were done eating and Ginny was leaning against the pillows resting, she’d seen a shadow cross his face, and he’d stood up, crossed to the door, and walked out.

Hermione took the babies out to Ron and George, and had come back to hold Ginny as she turned her face into the pillow and cried.

_There’s no more coming back this way_   
_The path is overgrown and strewn with thorns_   
_They’ve torn the lifeblood from your naked eyes_   
_Cast aside to be forlorn_

The last child was another little boy, quiet and shy, but still full of mischief. Ginny had sighed and named him Remus, and waited for Harry to disappear again, but he had stayed, surprising her. He had stayed the longest that time, and she almost thought he was making an effort, though whether it was for her, for their children, or for duty’s sake, she didn’t know.

But he’d vanished on the anniversary of the final battle, and had been gone for three days. When he came home, haggard, hung over, with a scraggly beard, Maggie had cried. Remus put a finger in his mouth and stared solemnly at his father. Ginny pressed her hand against her lips to hold in a sob, and turned away. There had been a long silence in the kitchen, then Harry swore softly and went through the room to the stairs.

_In the terms of endearment_   
_In the terms of the life that you love_   
_In the terms of the years that pass you by_   
_In the terms of the reasons why_

She’d known before he came downstairs that he wouldn’t come back this time. She felt her heart going to shreds inside her, but she didn’t have the energy to plead anymore. There was no use in it, and it only hurt them both worse. She tried to be understanding, tried to let him go and come as he needed, but she just couldn’t do this anymore.

She stood at the kitchen sink, staring out the window. He walked down the lane with his satchel over his shoulder, head hanging low. His shoulders were slumped, his trudging steps slow. Her heart ached with the desire to chase him. She wanted to fly after him, wrap him in her arms, enfold him in her love, and tell him it didn’t matter.

But she couldn’t lie to him; it mattered so very very much.

“Daddy?” She pressed her face into the tea towel at the sound of Sirius’s four-year-old confusion. She felt a tug at her skirt.

“Mum, where’s Daddy going?”

She put her hand down, tangling her fingers in Maggie’s red curls, petting her daughter’s head. She had no words to say.

“Dad!” She lifted her head and watched as James ran after his father. Harry turned, looked down at his son as the boy caught his hand. The man lifted his head, and across the distance surrounding them, he met his wife’s gaze.

“Please come back,” she whispered, though she knew he couldn’t hear her.

Harry bowed his head.

_Funny how it seems that all I’ve tried to do  
Seemed to make no difference to you at all_


End file.
